


My Pictures On Your Wall

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-17
Updated: 2002-03-17
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A little heart-to-heart often does a world of good.





	My Pictures On Your Wall

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**My Pictures On Your Wall**

**by:** Cara 

**Category:** Post-Episode, CJ/Sam

**Spoilers:** Manchester Part I

**Rating:** YTEEN

**Summary:** A little heart-to-heart often does a world of good. 

_I hopelessly, helplessly wonder why  
Everything’s gotta change around me _

__

I’m getting quite bored. 

I’ve been waiting outside her door for an hour and forty-three minutes. And I haven’t heard a sound from inside. Carol’s getting a bit worried, and I have to agree that this is not good. 

Oh, granted, that what she said was not good either. We’ll be digging ourselves out of that hole for quite some time. But, however mad Leo may be at me, I had to say what I did. She’s not perfect; why should she be expected to be this automaton that never makes a mistake? 

But at least she got the chance to deal with what we had to do. 

It’s like Josh said. Leo had raged, “C.J. doesn’t misspeak!” Josh looked up at him and said, “She just did.” 

Honestly, I’m so mad at Leo for the direction he’s taking us. 

And some of us have had more time than others to deal with the things he’s carried for a year. 

Enough. Against Carol’s protests, I open her door. 

_I’d tell it to your face, but you lost your face along the way_  
And I’d say it on the phone if I thought you were alone   
Why do things have to change? 

__

She is sitting on her couch, staring out the window, but a split second later she’s in my face and mad as hell. “I told you to leave me alone!” 

There’s raw power in her words that honestly scares me. What am I supposed to do? I’m bleeding, she’s bleeding. And sooner or later, we’re all gonna die. 

So I say in my calmest voice, “We’re worried about you.” 

To my surprise, that hits home. I hadn’t expected it to. She gets up from her couch and looks at me. “*You* were worried, maybe.” I can’t say anything, she’ll know how right she is. Josh is concerned, but Toby’s just pissed. And I don’t want her to handle that right now. 

So instead I say, “C.J., it happens to everyone.” 

“Not to me.” She reaches for a tissue. “It’s never supposed to happen to me. Dammit!” Again, she bangs a hand on the wall and turns away. 

So I tell her what I did in Leo’s office. I tell her how I defended her, and how I don’t think she’s caused us any problem that can’t be remedied. But I don’t tell her what Leo said, or what I said to him. That would just be too much. 

I’m struck by how things change a lot, but then they never really change. I remember last year with the India-Pakistan thing, and how they lied to her. She was hurt and angry then, as she’s hurt and angry - mostly angry - now. I wish that they never happened to her. She’s so heartbreaking when she’s angry. 

But then she dries her eyes and says, “You’re pissed too, aren’t you?” 

_But you don’t need my pictures on your wall_  
You say you need no one   
And you don’t need my secret midnight call   
I guess you need no one 

__

It’s my turn to look like a frightened turtle. I want to pull in. I came to comfort her; it’s a little strange to find the tables turned. 

She fixes those bloodshot eyes on me. “Look ... I know you felt bad about being the last to know.” 

“Yeah.” Just admitting it is a load off my mind. 

“Well, I felt bad once they said you didn’t know yet.” She sighs and twists her tissue viciously. “They only told me after Toby, and Josh, and Leo’d known already ...” 

“Yeah.” Bitterness chokes my throat. 

“It had happened before, and your reaction was always different.” She barely hesitates before bringing up old knife wounds. “The drop-in. Your father.” 

“Yeah.” Why is she doing this to me? Is it a punishment? 

“But this time you just went right on; you looked like you’d bite my head off if I offered sympathy or understanding.” She is reproachful. “And I didn’t want to look patronizing.” 

I hang my head. “I guess I wanted to act like I didn’t need to know. I didn’t need anyone.” 

“But you do.” 

Her voice is soft enough for me to challenge her. “Then so do you, C.J.” I laugh sardonically. “Just because you’re the Press Secretary doesn’t mean you’re not human.” 

She is about to yell, I can see it. Those eyes shrink and fill with transitory hatred. But then she swallows her words and turns them away. 

Silence. What to say? Should I say anything? 

Suddenly I remember what I came for. “C.J., would you mind if I offered some advice?” 

She flares suddenly. “Yes, Sam, I would. Remember that you’re not in the best position either.” 

I turn away, stunned, but she reaches for me. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” 

I give her a sad smile. “Guess we’re both on the short end of the stick a lot.” 

Her smile is equally tragic. “At least there’s someone else who knows what it feels like.” 

In her smile I recognize a spirit of brotherhood; even if the word is ill-chosen here. Whatever. A kinship has been formed. 

_Is anybody waiting at home for you_  
Cause it’s time that will tell if it’s heaven if it’s hell or if it’s   
Anybody waiting at home for you   
Cause it’s time that will tell this tale ...

__

“C.J., don’t shut us out.” 

She shakes her head, once: No. 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank *you.*” She walks to her desk and sits down, sighing. “I’m not coming out for a while.” She opens the top drawer of her desk, and takes a long look inside. 

I can’t help myself. “What’s that?” 

“It’s a bunch of pictures,” she answers. “When I’ve got problems, I take the pictures out and look at them. They’re happy, so they make me happier.” 

I look at her little panorama, seeing the assorted family shots. But sticking out in the middle is a shot of all of us, at the victory party that November night. 

Josh looking downcast - his father had passed away. Donna happy and laughing. Toby about twenty pounds lighter, with a beer in his hand. And her, with her arm around me, laughing for the camera. 

It sounds stupid, and that’s why I don’t say it out loud: I hope she thinks of me. I know I’ll think of her, when I’ve been screwed over again. Because I know it will happen. That’s the price you pay for ideals. 

I walk out to an anxious Toby. “Is she coming out?” he demands. I shake my head. “No. And leave her alone for a while before you light into her.” I keep striding back to my office, leaving Toby sputtering in my wake. But I have to go put a picture on my wall. 

_I hopelessly, helplessly, wonder why  
Everything’s gotta change ... _


End file.
